Never Speak of This
by SabaceanBabe
Summary: The world is going to end so why not?


Restless, unable to sleep, and goddamned _bored_, Dean prowled the grounds of the old house, beer in hand. Why couldn't they have just gotten a hotel room, one with a television, maybe with pay-per-view, basic cable even? No, they had to lay low, keep a low profile, to _squat_, as Bela so elegantly put it.

Bela. Dean smiled humorlessly and leaned back against the wood siding, still-damp from the earlier storm. Bitch was a piece of work, tricking them into helping her steal that damned hand of glory and then stealing it from them. And she had the balls to come to them for help when it turned out she needed the hand to save her own sorry skin.

He took a pull from his beer. Okay, so it was actually some damned fine skin, and she smelled good, too, but still. He hadn't even gotten any angry sex out of the deal, and it had been her idea. He grinned, remembering the look on her face when he'd come down those stairs in that monkey suit.

Staring out at the night sky, he watched the clouds skitter across the moon, the stars seeming to blink in and out of existence with the movement of the clouds and his grin faded. "Damn, I'm going to miss this," he said aloud. All of it, good and bad. He was going to miss just being alive. And there wasn't a hope in hell that Sam was going to find a way around it.

Something squished in the soggy ground and Dean went still. Taking a better grip on the bottle in his hand in case he had to use it as a weapon – which would be a waste of a damned mediocre brew – he turned his head a bit to the left, toward the sound. Another squish. Footsteps? One more and then the second step leading from the main walk up to the porch squeaked.

Dean slid silently along the wall until he could peak around the corner, hoping the boards of the old wrap-around porch wouldn't creak under his weight and alert the intruder to his presence. By the time he could see anything, she stood on the porch in front of the door, looking at it but not making any move to either open it or knock to gain their attention.

"Bela?"

She whirled, startled. Her hair hung down around her shoulders and it looked in the sporadic moonlight as though it might be still wet. For a second her eyes were wide and vulnerable, but her usual mask of superiority dropped quickly into place. Dean couldn't forget that he'd seen that vulnerability, though. Dammit.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, taking a step toward him.

"Forget that. What are _you_ doing here at all?"

She looked down – at her shoes, at the weathered boards of the porch, at who the hell knew what – but then she looked back at him. Whatever her game was, Dean couldn't read her expression as she shrugged and held out her hands, palms toward him. Her fashionable raincoat gapped open and he could see that she still wore what she'd had on earlier, when they'd summoned the ship's captain and his brother the death omen.

"I came looking for you."

"Yeah, whatever." He finished off the rest of his beer in one swig and she raised one eyebrow. He knew she was looking down her nose at him again, but he asked, if only to get a rise out of her, "What? Do you want a beer?" The serial killer comment still rankled a bit.

And then she surprised him.

"Actually, yes. Yes, I would like a beer, if you don't mind." She crossed her arms over her chest and looked off into the darkness and for a second Dean thought maybe he should invite her in. She looked cold and like she was maybe still a little unsettled from her encounter with dear old Ahab, and that air of vulnerability was back. But Sam was asleep inside and there was no sneaking around in that old house and anyway, Bela deserved to be uncomfortable.

So instead of inviting her in, he shrugged and said, "Be right back," as he brushed past her.

He pushed the door open slowly, with just the right amount of pressure on the hinges that it didn't offer more than a token squeal, then stepped carefully around the places on the floor that always made noise. The cooler opened quietly on the half dozen bottles left inside, swimming in a pool of icy water, the actual ice having melted long since. Dean grabbed two and slipped back outside, closing the door gently behind him.

Bela had disappeared; no big surprise there. Dean gritted his teeth at the memory of her having the Impala towed. Wary of her motives, he jumped over that noisy second step from the bottom and headed out back to the barn, where the car was parked, safe from any more nasty storms.

And damn if the barn door wasn't standing open.

Dean broke into a run. When he reached the barn, he slipped in the mud just outside the door and grabbed onto the door jamb to keep from falling on his ass.

Just _inside _the door was Bela. She walked slowly around the Impala, caressing the car's metal skin with her fingertips. Everything was black and blue-gray in the shaft of moonlight that stole in through the open door, bathing both woman and car in silver. She had to know he was there, given his less than stealthy arrival, but she seemed preoccupied as she continued on her path around the Impala. Dean just watched her until Bela finally turned toward him, a smile on her face.

"She really is a beautiful car, Dean. I'm sorry about having her towed." And then she frowned, as if just realizing that he'd come at a run. "Oh, Dean, I'm not going to hurt your baby." The superior smirk was back.

Dean blinked and let go of the doorway, rested a shoulder against the doorframe in an attempt to look calm, cool, and collected.

She leaned back against the Impala's driver side door. "Is one of those for me?"

"What?"

Slowly shaking her head, she pushed off the car and came toward Dean. Her eyes locked on his and Dean couldn't look away. When she reached him, she took one of the bottles from his hand. "Amazing. You ran all the way from the house to save your precious car and still managed to not drop the beer." She lifted the bottle and ran the cap over Dean's lower lip and he sucked in a startled breath. "I suppose everyone has their priorities."

She took a step back, that smile still playing about her lips, drawing Dean's gaze to her mouth. Holding the bottle toward him, she asked, "Please?"

Dean just stared at her mouth, the shape of it as she spoke. Then it dawned on him that she had said something. To him. "What?"

"Really, Dean. Am I that distracting?" She gestured with the bottle. "Will you please open this for me?"

"Yeah." He took the bottle from her and, with a quick motion, used one to open the other, both caps flying to the floor. Offering one of the newly opened beers to her, he said, "You are."

"I'm what?" She backed up to lean against the car again, looking bemused.

"That distracting." And he smiled, slow and sweet, his brain finally catching up, and it was Bela's turn to stare at Dean's mouth. He took a step forward, closing some of the distance she'd put between them, and raised his beer in a salute before taking another drink. "I still don't know why you're here, Bela, but I do get it."

Returning his salute with a mocking one of her own, Bela drank. "That's actually not bad," she observed, lifting the bottle close to her eyes so that she could read the label in the moonlight.

"Never would've pegged you as a beer drinker." Dean leaned back against the Impala, his arm not quite touching Bela's. Even through her raincoat and his shirts, he felt her warmth.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Dean." There was a smile in her voice.

"Likewise, Bela."

They stood there in silence for a time, relaxed, watching the play of the light breeze in the trees outside the barn door, the moonlight reflecting on the leaves. But Dean finally broke the silence.

"You never went back to your hotel, did you?" He glanced down at her. She didn't answer, just played with the neck of the empty bottle between her fingers. "How long were you sitting in your car before you came to the door, Bela?"

She shrugged, not denying it. "I had some things to think about."

Dean laughed. "Planning your next heist?"

"Not exactly." Her voice was so serious… "Dean, I know about your deal."

He felt like she'd just punched him in the gut. "How?" he asked, not bothering to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about.

Again, she shrugged. "I hear things." She shifted a bit so that she could look at him. "I know that you don't have much time left." Her eyes were troubled and Dean knew there was no way that look was for him. Not with their history. "I'm dying, too."

He stared. "You're serious."

"I've only got a few weeks left." She was so calm about it. Resigned. But then, Dean understood that. He just wished Sam could understand.

"You have cancer or something?"

She pushed off from the car again, carefully laid her bottle on the ground and then kicked it away from the Impala. Then she turned to Dean, very deliberately stepped into his personal space, again, and slipped her hands beneath his flannel shirt. Her eyes dropped from his to the pendant he'd worn forever. She picked it up, studied it, and Dean held his breath, waiting to see what she'd do, ready to grab it if she tried to take it. As far as he knew, the charm was of no value to anyone but him.

"It's the end of the world for us, Dean." She closed her fingers around the charm and looked him in the eye and he shivered. "So why not?"

"I'm not really in the mood for angry sex right now, Bela," he breathed. She blinked, taken aback, and he smiled. "Not the angry part, anyway."

She let out a breath and applied pressure to the leather strap that held the pendant around his neck, pulling his head down to where she could reach easily. She brushed her mouth over his, the touch barely there as far as his lips were concerned, but that slight pressure sent a surge of lust through his entire body and he reached up, dug his fingers into her hair. Her mouth opened for him – she tasted like beer and something salty-sweet and, God help him, he couldn't get enough.

Her hands were at the button of his jeans. She sucked his tongue into her mouth, pressed him backward against the car, the door handle digging into his side. "Mmm, no." He pushed at her. "Not on the car."

She made a sound that he took to be a protest and started to pull away from him, but he grabbed her wrist with one hand and dug into his pocket with the other. "Not on the car," he repeated and pulled the keys from his pocket. "Inside."

Bela just looked at him with those big eyes and he had the passing thought that if she walked away from this now, he'd fucking explode, but relief – and renewed lust – shot through him when her expression cleared and rather than walking away, she shrugged that raincoat off and let it drop to the concrete.

Fumbling for a second to get the key into the lock, he finally got the door open. He reached into the front and opened the glove box, pulling out a two-inch square foil packet. Behind him, he heard the rustle of cloth, a zipper being lowered, a scrape and clatter of hard heels on concrete and when he turned around, his mouth went dry.

"Jesus," he whispered.

"Surely you've seen a naked woman before." The moonlight brightened, no longer partially obscured by clouds, adding a silvery shimmer to her skin. She nodded her head toward the back seat and Dean did what any sane man would – he pushed the seat back forward sat down on the back seat, pulling both shirts over his head and tossing them to join her blouse and trousers.

Kneeling in front of him, Bela reached for his shoes. "What…?"

"Hush, Dean. Don't spoil it by talking," she whispered, untying his laces and pulling off first one shoe and then the other. She tugged at his jeans and he took the hint, leaning back, unfastening, raising his hips so she could pull the jeans off of him, along with his briefs and dragging his socks along for the ride.

He would have torn the rubber open then and there, but Bela leaned over him, pushed him further into the car with a hand to the middle of his chest, and her hair… That long, soft hair tickled his thighs, his hips and then…

His cock leapt at the first touch of her tongue, feather light, but then she licked him. Slowly. Ran the tip of her tongue up the underside of his dick and he made a little strangling noise in the back of his throat. A breathy laugh and she nipped at his head, then reached up and took the packet from him, ripped it open, smoothed it over his cock and squeezed. "Bela…"

And then she slid up his body, all soft, smooth skin and heat and hard nipples tracing a trail up his stomach, his chest, and she was kissing him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and he stroked his hands over her hips, her ass. He gripped her sides, pulled her up further, leaned his head in to suck a nipple into his mouth and she let him, held herself there, until, gasping, she took control once more, sliding back down until she could take his lower lip between her teeth. And then they were kissing again and he met her tongue thrust for thrust, the motion mirrored by the motion of his hips under hers, seeking, wanting.

She broke the kiss, reared up on her knees, straddled him, and he reached between her legs, stroked her with his thumb, and didn't stop even when she slid onto him. He bucked up into her and she came down on him hard, again and again as the pressure built until she cried out his name, collapsing against his chest. He bucked up into her one last time as he came.

They lay there like that for a while, until skin cooled and sweat dried, until heartbeats slowed to a more normal rhythm. Dean shifted under her and she pushed up, looking down at him with haunted eyes.

Without a word, she left him there, went to gather up her clothes and dress. And then she was gone. Dean figured he should get dressed, too, head back up to the house, but he wasn't ready to do that yet, and so instead he covered his eyes with his arm and lay there, more or less relaxed.

Eventually, he heard the sound of her car's engine turn over and then fade into the distance, knowing that neither of them would ever say a word about what had happened. Not to each other, not to anyone else.


End file.
